


Lavender Lies

by ohstars, sparkstarthetrashcan



Series: Strung Together Universe [2]
Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Friendship, Gaslighting, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Miles Morales, Hurt/Comfort, Miles Morales Needs a Hug, Panic Attacks, Platonic Relationships, Platonic String, Red String of Fate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-31 17:11:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21149276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohstars/pseuds/ohstars, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparkstarthetrashcan/pseuds/sparkstarthetrashcan
Summary: The Spider-Man Curse is defined by the loss of a loved one by a future Spider-Man, most often an uncle.Miles loved his life before the bite, he still loves most aspects, but he could do without some of the changes. Especially the way Uncle Aaron acts around him now. As Miles comes into his powers, his relationship with Aaron evolves and he gains a new ally that'll stand the test of time.





	Lavender Lies

“Ow,” Miles hisses, grabbing his hand. The spider he had been watching absently seconds before scuttles out of sight, leaving Miles to stare after it.

He looks down at his hand, there’s a small bite mark where it bit him and he can see it starting to swell.

“Hey lil’ man,” he hears Uncle Aaron shout from the kitchen, “do you want a raspberry or lemonade popsicle?”

It was only a small spider, it’s probably not venomous.

“Uh, raspberry please,” he yells back.

* * *

The cardboard stubbornly sticks to Miles’s fingers. His decision to pick cereal for breakfast was coming back to bite him, or in this case, glue itself to him.

“You okay there kiddo?” Dad asks, giving him a weird look.

Miles shrugs, giving up and just holding the box. “I guess I got glue on my fingers.”

“Uh huh, you should wash your hands then.”

* * *

“Miles, these powers are amazing. You can do incredible things with them, lil’ man,” Uncle Aaron says, holding both Miles’ hands in his. “But what about your parents?”

“What about them?” Miles asks quietly.

“They hate mutants,” Uncle Aaron says bluntly, squeezing his hands reassuringly. “I don’t know what they’d do if they found out… but you can trust me to keep this secret of yours. I’ll help you figure out these powers of yours, yeah?”

Miles swallows and nods. “Thanks Uncle Aaron. I… I won’t tell them.”

“Good man.”

* * *

“Uncle Aaron,” Miles says excitedly as he steps into the apartment, “look what I can do!”

Uncle Aaron smiles at him. “Discovered a new power, lil man?”

Miles nods. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and concentrates with all his might. When he opens them again, both of his arms are now invisible - only the faintest of outlines if you really looked.

“You can camouflage! Wow, the possibilities are endless,” his Uncle says wistfully. He grabs at Miles’s arms, looking over them. “And your clothes go too?”

“Yeah, they do,” Miles says proudly, puffing out his chest.

“Maybe I should take him under my wing,” he hears Uncle Aaron mutter under his breath. “If I can get him sneaking around…”

“Sneaking around?” Miles echoes, a frown on his face.

Uncle Aaron’s head whips up. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I’ll tell you later. It’ll be good for the both of us, I just know it.”

Miles doesn’t know what to think, so he just nods and lets the night move forward like normal.

* * *

“Get up.”

“Uncle Aaron, I can’t, it hurts,” Miles whines, on the verge of sobbing. On his knees, clutching his stomach in pain from the last kick, he can’t find the will to get back up. He doesn’t like training with Uncle Aaron anymore.

“Get up! We’ve got work to do, and I don’t want you dragging us both down,” Uncle Aaron hisses, looming over his nephew.

Miles, squeezing his eyes shut, wonders if he’s broken a rib but pushes himself to his feet. There’s nowhere to go, and he doesn’t want to know what would happen if he didn’t do what Uncle Aaron says.

“Arm’s up, I’m not wasting my time. I have a schedule to keep. You should feel lucky that I'm training you,” Uncle Aaron says, his own hands coming up.

All Miles can do is nod and get ready.

* * *

The jewel is just inches away, but he can’t grab it. He doesn’t want to grab it, but he has to.

Otherwise Uncle Aaron will tell Mum and Dad about his new powers.

He carefully reaches through the sweeping lazers, barely missing them in his awkward attempt. He tenderly grabs the jewel, it's a magenta blue color, the colors shifting with every blink. He brings it back to his chest where he’s tucked against the wall.

He breathes a sigh of relief. He only has to get out of here, and then he can go home. He’ll finally be able to sleep for more than an hour tonight.

He goes to scuttle up the wall and out, but his movements are sloppy. He clips a laser. The alarm starts hounding his ears. All he wants to do is curl up and away from the noise, it’s blinding him.

He doesn’t have the opportunity to, as the door slams open. “Freeze!”

The robber’s mask on his face isn’t helping him, and he knows it.

Miles springs towards the opposite wall, barely missing the rounds of bullets echoing off the walls. He rebounds and aims for the hole he got into the room with, but he misses and slams into the wall instead - barely gripping on by his fingertips.

His mistake costs him. Blinding pain rips through his side before he’s able to climb through the wall. But he doesn’t stop. Running on adrenaline alone, he crawls his way out.

* * *

“You couldn’t even complete the simplest job,” Uncle Aaron growls, tugging harshly on the thread stitching his side back together. Miles bites down on his whimper, eyes clenched shut.

“I tried-” Miles tries, voice wobbling.

“Shut up! Why should I even be wasting all my medicine on you when it’s your own fault you’re hurt,” Uncle Aaron reprimands, finishing the last stitch. He gets up from the bed, harshly shaking the bed in the process. Miles feels a tear slid down his cheek, the pain overwhelming him.

“Clean this up yourself,” Uncle Aaron demands, slamming the door shut behind him.

* * *

Hours later, all the blood soaked sheets in the wash, Uncle Aaron beckons Miles to follow him.

There’s some popcorn and some McDonalds on the coffee table. Miles looks at his Uncle quizzically, not understanding.

“I’m sorry I snapped, lil’ man. You did well, even got the jewel. So consider this my apology, yeah? A movie, junk food, great for the whole family,” Uncle Aaron explains, giving Miles a sideways hug.

He doesn’t complain that that makes his fresh stitches ache, in fact, he smiles. Everything’s ok.

* * *

When he looks at his Uncle’s string, he can’t understand why there’s a fresh thread looped in purple. When Miles had first looked at it, he had thought it was black because it was so dark.

But in the light, he understands better. It’s dark purple - fear.

He’s got nothing to fear from him, right? It’s just his Uncle. He shakes his head and continues on with his day.

* * *

“The next job is going to get me, I mean us, so much more recognition,” Uncle Aaron starts when Miles lands beside him. He’s puffed out from parkouring all over town trying to get here. He shouldn’t be this tired, yet nowadays every step feels so heavy.

“Yeah?” Miles says, his voice sounding like he’s underwater. He sits down on the closest air-conditioning unit and breathes. 

“You and me, lil’ man, we’re going to... capture Mrs. Sleevington for Doctor Ergot. Something about his love for her, but that doesn’t matter, he’s paying good money. Every job like this-”

Miles gathers his wits about him, blinking through his drooping eyelids. “We’re kidnapping someone?” he says quietly.

Uncle Aaron glares at him for interrupting. “Yes, and if we’re quick we can get it done tonight.”

He almost doesn’t say anything, almost gives in to his apathy. But this is different. This isn’t stealing from, presumably, rich people. This is going to hurt someone. Who knows what that guy wants with the kidnapee?

“...No,” Miles says slowly, like he's testing the word.

Uncle Aaron folds his arms, leaning over him, “No?” He hisses back.

“I don’t want to hurt people,” he says softly, fiddling with the cuff of his sleeve. His shoulders are tense, ready to be hit. “I want to go home.”

Uncle Aaron grabs him by his shirt, dragging him off his feet. He pulls their face’s close together, teeth bared like an animal. Miles flinches. “You will be doing this, or else I’ll tell your parents about everything you’ve been up to. How disappointed will they be, their perfect angel turned into a thief?”

Miles clenches his eyes shut. “I want to go home,” he says again. He feels like a little kid, whining to their parents. But he’s not. This is his Uncle.

Uncle Aaron shoves him away. Miles stumbles, feet tripping over each other and falls to the ground, scraping his elbows on the concrete. Uncle Aaron walks over and Miles desperately crawls backwards, hitting the wall of the roof too soon. Tears prick at his eyes, making them sting.

“This is opportunity knocking at our door,” Uncle Aaron spits, slowly approaching him, arms jutted out like he’s offering the world. “And you’re going to throw it all away!”

“I-I don’t want to hurt people! I don’t want to steal things!” Miles cries, breaking in a moment of weakness. “I want to go home and be normal!”

“You’re a mutant, you will never be normal! Besides,” his voice softens, startling enough that Miles blinks the tears out of his eyes to look up at him, “you won’t be killing anyone, little man. I know what’s best for us. Trust me.”

“I don’t want to be like you, I want to be- be a hero, like Spider-Man,” Miles pleas, trying to get through to him. Trying with everything he had to make him understand.

Uncle Aaron’s eyes grow cold. 

Miles hands begin to shake by his side, a blue light dancing up his arms when he stomps closer. “That guy brings nothing but trouble!” Uncle Aaron snaps, before his voice grows soft again, crooning. “I always promised to look out for you, didn’t I?”

Uncle Aaron reaches for him, closer and closer. A headache snaps to attention, pounding behind his eyes. “Leave me alone!” Miles shouts.

Uncle Aaron grabs his hand, maybe to pull him to his feet, maybe to squeeze and prove a point. It didn’t matter. Electricity dances up his arms, through his body and fries his gauntlets. They sizzle and spark, then explode.

The force of it sends Miles through the wall he was leaning against. He barely manages to correct himself before he splats on the sidewalk, scrambling for purchase on the building’s walls. The bricks slam to the ground and break into pieces.

His clothes are singed, his face covered in small burns. Dread weighs him down as he climbs back up the wall. And there’s Uncle Aaron, on the other side of the rooftop.

Miles hoists himself up and runs over to his body, collapsing to his knees. He can barely recognise his own uncle. Everything he can see is patchy and red, burnt black and blue in too many spots. Burnt to a crisp. Miles breath hitches.

He looks around wildly. “Help!” He shouts, voice breaking. “Someone help!”

He grabs his Uncle, his head lolls back as he tries to pick him up. “Please!” Miles screams to the unforgiving night. 

The night goes on, ignoring the kid crying for help, grieving the mistake he made.

* * *

“You’re his nephew, correct?” The nurse says quietly, crouching down so they’re at eye level.

“Yeah,” Miles croaks. He’s still staring at his hands. Only minutes before they had had blood all over them. There are small bandaids on his face with burn cream to help him heal. Not that he needs it, he knows bitterly.

The nurse puts a comforting hand on his knee. “Can you tell me what happened?” she asks softly.

Miles can’t tell her the truth. He can’t tell anyone the truth, ever. He doesn’t want to be ‘that mutant kid.’ He doesn’t want to be ‘that thief.’ He wants to be Miles again, normal.

“The- the stove exploded,” Miles whispers, the lie twisting his heart.

She nods, thanking him quietly before moving on. He’s left alone in the hospital corridor, swallowing his guilt.

* * *

“Miles,” Ganke whispers, nudging him. Miles looks up from where he had been nudging the food around his plate. “Are you okay?”

He shrugs, looking back down. “I’m fine,” he mumbles.

Ganke gives him a disbelieving look, but doesn’t press him further. “When’s the funeral?” he asks instead.

“Tomorrow,” Miles says.

Ganke wraps a hand around his shoulder and hugs him. The small reassurance has his breath hitching, but he refuses to cry. Instead, he lays his head on Ganke’s shoulder. It feels nice.

* * *

“I don’t know what to do about him,” he hears his Mum whispering in the dead of night. “He was so close to-”

“We just have to give him time, he’ll be alright,” his Dad whispers back.

Miles clenches his stinging eyes shut and sinks further into his sheets.

* * *

Weeks have passed, and Miles is meandering through the store, absently searching for what he wants. Something nice for his Dad, maybe, something to cheer him up after everything. Maybe just to say sorry, even if he would never know what for.

He can hear the cashier from across the store, something that he had never been able to do before. He hates it, and he wishes it could all just go away.

The normal, monotone noises of the cashier turns distressed, higher pitched. Miles whirls around, despite being unable to see what’s going on.

“Sir, put the gun down, I’ll give you the money,” he hears the cashier saying in a hushed voice, trying to stay calm but failing massively.

“We don’t want your blood splattered over the counter, do we?” He hears a gravely, maybe drunken voice say.

Miles creeps closer, trying to see without alerting anyone of his presence. He peeks around the corner and discovers a man dressed in all black hunched over the counter, using his build to hide the weapon pointed in the cashier's direction.

The cashier slowly moves towards the register. This guy’s going to get away with who knows how much money if no one intervenes.

Miles’ hands are shaking, ghost jewel in his hand. No one has noticed the cashier’s distress and it’s too quiet for anyone but him to be hanging around.

The cashier looks past the robber and spots him hiding behind an aisle. They make eye contact. The cashier is pleading for help with his eyes alone.

Miles swallows his fear, it wouldn’t be the first time he had. Yet, here he is, moving towards the two of them like he’s in a daydream. “Hey,” he whispers by accident. He swallows and tries again, “Hey!”

The robber whirls around, staggers and catches himself. He has an ugly smirk on his face as he stares Miles up and down. “And who are you, kid? Trying to play the hero?” he mocks.

“Leave him alone,” Miles says as confidently as possible, trying to square his shoulders.

The robber scoffs. He can see the cashier beckoning him to leave, but the cashier is only a few years older than him. Who would he be to leave the cashier there to stare down a gun? Especially when Miles has all of his powers?

The robber waves his gun in the air lazily, before pointing it in Miles’ direction. “One last warnin’,” he slurs, “and then I’ll shoot.”

“You’re drunk,” Miles hears himself say like he's underwater, “you’ll regret this.”

The guy staggers closer, getting in his space, “You,” he jabs the gun into his chest like you would a finger, “can’t tell me what to do.”

Echoes of nights training have him moving, more than anything else. He grabs the gun and squeezes it as hard as he can. The gun crumples in his grip like paper and becomes useless. The robber can hardly believe his eyes, stumbling back a step and examining the ruined gun.

He turns back to Miles, his face twisted into a snarl. “You’ll regret that!”

He tries to grab for Miles’s throat, but Miles pushes him back. “Go home!”

The man’s eyes widen, looking down at something. Miles glances down and realises his hands are lit up. Electric blue light dances up and down his arms, just like they had with Uncle Aaron. His eyes sting, his vision blurring.

A bell chimes as the door opens. “Aww, you guys are having a party without me?” 

Miles turns towards the new voice at the same time as the robber. It’s… Spider-man. All red and blue skin-tight costume, huge bug-like eyes looking around the store - and the scene at hand. Childishly, he hides his still electric arms behind his back, swallowing nervously.

“Spider-Man!” The robber spits.

Spider-Man scratches at his head. “Guess I should catch up, huh?” He raises a hand and thwips a web toward the robber’s face, webbing his mouth shut. “But I don’t think you should be the one telling me. In fact…” Spider-Man jumps up and roundhouse kicks him, top of his foot slamming against his chin. 

The robber goes down with a thud. 

He webs him up and puts his hands on his hips. Spider-Man looks between the cashier and Miles. “You guys okay?”

“The cops are coming,” The cashier is quick to say, “they should be here any minute.”

“That’s my cue then. Good job with that, by the way.” Spider-Man pats Miles’ on the shoulder, squeezing. “Why don’t you come with me?”

Embarrassingly, Miles is so close to crying he can’t speak. He just nods and lets himself be led out of the store. The last strands of electric light fizzle out.

Spider-Man guides Miles out of the store and into the alley. He hides behind a dumpster as a cop car pulls up. “Take my hand,” Spider-Man says, offering his left hand. 

Miles stares at his extended hand in confusion, “Why?” he croaks.

“We have to get out of here.” 

It’s Spider-Man. He trusts Spider-Man. He takes the hand.

Spider-Man pulls him into a hug, an arm wrapped around Miles as if they were a couple mid-dance, and shoots a web up to the building’s roof. He pulls them up, and they soar through the air and over the edge of the building. 

The short webbing trip is exhilarating, but the fear and excitement from flying through the way is drowned by the lump in his throat. The lump has closed his throat so tightly that he can’t even scream. Spider-Man lets him go once they’ve safely landed on the roof. “Are you going to- to web me up?”

“No, I just want to talk.” Spider-Man crouches down, glancing over the edge as the cops pull the robber into their car. He looks back at Miles and nods toward his hands. “What’s going on with the hands? You looked like you were straight out of a Shazam! movie.” 

Miles shifts uncomfortably, folding his arms. “I, uh, was bit by a spider,” he says quietly, and, despite himself, a small smile tugs at his lips.

Spider-Man’s eyes widen, then zero in on him. “Where?”

“...At my Uncle’s house. I don’t know where the spider came from,” he says. He has his suspicions, though.

“Did you see what it looked like?” Spider-Man stands up and steps forward, crossing his arms. He’s a foot taller than Miles, the height difference glaringly obvious as the hero looms over him. 

Miles shrugs, eyes dropping to his feet. “It was fuzzy and had a number on it’s back. I didn’t see what it was before it disappeared under the couch.”

Spider-Man laughs, hands going to his head. “That sounds like my spider! I was bit by a spider, too! Totally different situations and I can’t do the Pikachu hands like you can, but close enough.” 

Miles tilts his head up at him, “I’m not going to call it ‘Pikachu hands.’ Ever.”

He points at him. “Pikachu hands is a fantastic name for a power, thank you very much.” Spider-Man walks around him, heading toward the opposite side of the roof. “So what else can you do? Is your hearing and sight way better than normal? And are you having trouble not breaking things? Or not sticking to stuff?”

Miles shrugs, “I used to stick to everything. I uh, learned,” was forced to learn, “how to stop. I… think I have everything you do?”

“Plus the Pikachu hands.” 

“I’m going to call it a Venom Strike, not Pikachu hands,” Miles decides on a whim. He takes a deep breath, and holds his hand out for Spider-Man to see. “And watch this.”

In barely a second, his arm up to his elbow has disappeared from sight.

Spider-Man’s shoulders drop. “Damn. I’m lowkey jealous.” 

“Perks of getting bitten later, I guess,” Miles says with a small smile.

He shakes his head. “I have a theory about all this, but that’s for another day.” Spider-Man reaches up and slides the mask up to the bridge of his nose. “How long have you had these powers?” 

Miles hesitates. It wasn’t exactly common knowledge of the things he stole. There was maybe a police report or two, or that one time he had gotten into the news for stealing some art. But no one knew it was him, and no one would ever know he had done it with Uncle Aaron…

“Four months,” Miles finally says.

Spider-Man nods. “So not long enough to learn how to put them to use, but long enough to get used to them?” 

“Yeah, I guess,” Miles says with a small shrug.

“What are you planning on doing with them?” Spider-Man leans against the ledge, ankles crossing.

Miles winces, “I don’t know. I don’t think I’m, uh, superhero material. I mean, you do a lot of good, and that’s pretty cool, don’t get me wrong. I’m not sure I’m cut out for that.”

Spider-Man shrugs and climbs onto the ledge. “Well, that’s okay. It’s a hard job to take on, especially for a kid like yourself.” He glances down at the street and smiles. “You just can’t jump into situations like that unless you know what you’re doing, though. Get a little more practice controlling your Pikachu hands first, all right?” 

Miles eyes sting all over again. “That only turned up recently,” he says quietly. “I don’t know how to control it. I-it just turns up sometimes and I don’t want to hurt anyone…” again.

“I know you don’t. If you ever want someone to help with that, let me know.” Spider-Man smiles as he tugs his mask back down. “I gotta get back out there, but I’ll see you around, kid.” With that, he flips off the building and swings away, leaving Miles on the roof. 

* * *

There’s no place to sit, Miles learns quickly as he walks away from the lunch ladies - a tray full of food in his hands. At least, not as far as he can see. If Ganke was here, he would have already snagged them a spot but he’s sick today. He walks awkwardly around, trying to spot a place.

Which he does, there’s a seat next to a skinny, messy haired Junior who’s sitting alone. Miles hesitates, to sit or not to sit? He looks around again, still spots no other place, and gives in.

“Uh, hi, can I sit here?” Miles asks, hovering awkwardly.

He looks up, eyes wide and mouth frozen mid-chew as his pencil stays poised above his pre-calculus homework. “Uh,” he mumbles. The junior swallows and nods, sliding his things out of the way. “Yeah, sure.” 

Miles sits down, “I’m Miles, by the way. Sorry for bothering you.”

“Peter,” he says. Peter shakes his head and smiles. “You’re not bothering me. Just shocked, s’all.” 

Miles raises an eyebrow at that, as he picks up a chicken tender. “Shocked?” he questions.

Peter glances over his shoulder where Flash and his friends are throwing fries toward them. “Yeah, shocked.” 

Miles leans over and sees what’s happening. He snorts. “Ah, so mature,” he comments. “That Flash guy has always been a douche.”

“Trust me, I know.” Peter shakes his head and sets down his pencil, offering his hand. “I’m the guy he calls Penis Parker.” 

Miles gives him a disbelieving look as he takes his hand. “You’re Penis Parker? Dude, you’re like the smartest kid I’ve ever heard of.”

Peter flushes as he reaches for his food. “I don’t know about all that.” 

“Remember science fair? You were the only kid with an interesting one. What was it on again?”

“It was on an eco-friendly adhesive that’s strong enough to fix water pipes in the ocean,” Peter says, blushing. He scribbles down the answer to his next question and sets his pencil down. 

“See? No one would have thought of that. How’d you come up with that idea anyway?” Miles questions.

Peter shrugs. “It was just something I had been working on for a while.” 

Through a mouthful of food, Miles smiles and says, “that’s pretty cool. Better than Flash’s baking soda volcano any day.”

Peter laughs, nodding. “Hell yeah it was.” 

* * *

He’s a coward, plain and simple.

Miles peeks out from his hiding place behind a dumpster. This really wasn’t his proudest moment. He could hear people screaming and running in terror, he could hear the sounds of fighting. And yet, here he is hiding behind a dumpster, knowing full well he could help.

The monsters of the day weren’t particularly scary to look at. They were geckos. Giant, as big as a man, geckos that could breathe fire, but geckos all the same. Or were they more primitive, wingless dragons at this point?

As he watched the street, a blur of red and blue hit the ground with a hard ‘thump’, barely visible under the gecko pining him. Several more geckos, with their feet making weird ‘thwack’ sounds like suction cups coming unstuck, came chasing after their new found colourful prey.

Spider-Man gasps. “When did Geico get so aggressive with their ad campaign?” 

Miles creeps forward, despite every nerve in his body telling him not to. He can see Spider-Man struggling to fight off the giant geckos. He knows that Spider-Man can handle himself - he’s been at this for years.

But this is Miles’ opportunity to do some good.

He tugs his hood up, takes a deep breath and sprints forward. His arms light up, ready to venom strike, but this time he isn’t scared to. He skids to a stop before he can trip over the pile of geckos and touches one of them. Like a wave, it fizzes over the gecko’s body and it falls still. Miles grabs it and heaves it away, throwing it as far as he can.

He grabs the next one, doing the same trick, and before long, with Spider-Man’s help, the gecko pile is lying all around them - probably dead.

Miles turns to Spider-Man, tilting his hoodie so he can see who it is. “Uh, hey, remember me?”

Spider-Man points at him. “Pikachu hands!” 

Miles barely bites back his laughter. “Wow, rude,” he says.

White vans pull up, unmarked. People in official looking uniforms pour out the doors, coming towards them. Spider-Man pats Miles on the shoulder. “Let’s get out of here.” 

Miles nods, taking a nervous step away from the agents. “Yeah, I don’t want to end up in Area 51 or something.” Miles offers Spider-Man his hand this time.

Spider-Man grabs Miles hand, shoots a web and they swing away. 

They land on a roof a block or two away. Miles stumbles, but otherwise catches himself. He shakes out his hands, turning back to Spider-Man. “That’s pretty fun, you know.”

“What is?” Spider-Man asks, peering over the ledge at the scene they left. 

“Web swinging. Are those organic, by the way? Because I still can’t shoot webs,” Miles says with a small laugh.

He laughs. “No, they’re not. I, ugh, made them.” Spider-Man shows his palm; a button rests in the centre of his hand and the web shooter is strapped to his wrist. 

Miles marvels at it before looking back at him. “Think I can have a set?”

Spider-Man hums. “If you’re going to be Spider-Man, you need to train first.” 

“Uh, yeah, about that…” Miles begins hesitantly. He rings his fingers together, takes a deep breath and says, “I want to do some good with my powers. Help other people out, y’know?”

Spider-Man’s mask bunches as he smiles. “Yeah, totally. I can help with that.” He rubs the back of his neck and shrugs. “If you want, that is.” 

Miles almost wants to tell him, maybe tell him why, or how he really got his powers. What he was doing for these past few months. But his lips are sealed, the truth locks itself away before he can even try. “Yeah,” he says instead, “otherwise I wouldn’t be asking, right?”

“Good point.” Spider-Man looks over his shoulder and straightens up. “Meet me here tomorrow, same time, and we can start. Bring knee pads.” He stands up and turns to leap off the building. Spider-Man pauses and twists to look back at Miles. “Actually, bring a helmet, too. And a cup. And maybe shin guards. Just… bring anything you can to protect yourself. I gotta go. See ya Pika!” Spider-Man drops, thwipping a web as he swings away.

“Good luck with the Geckos!” Miles shouts after him, a smile on his face.

* * *

Turns out, he did have some knee pads. The shin guards? Not so much. The best helmet he could find was his bike helmet, but it was close enough. The cup he didn’t understand, but he shoved it in his bag with the pillows and duct tape he had brought too. Extra protection, right?

And that’s what he brought to his first official planned meeting with Spider-Man.

Spider-Man was already there, reading Night by Elie Wiesel as he perched upon the roof ledge. 

“Huh,” Miles says mostly to himself, “that looks like a grim story. Wouldn’t expect you to read it for fun.”

Spider-Man slips a piece of paper between the pages and tucks the book away in a ragged bookbag. He slings the strap over his shoulder and sits up. “Who said it was for fun?” 

“True… Is your college making you read it?” Miles asks, dropping his bag on the ground and begins to pull out all his protective gear.

“Whoa, hang on, Pikachu. We’re not training here. Put on the helmet, but leave everything else in your bag.” Spider-Man stands up and offers a hand. “C’mon. I found the perfect place to train without the added danger of being on a rooftop.” 

Miles straps his helmet on, zips up his bag and grabs it. “Be gentle with me,” he jokes. Even if it’s not really a joke.

“Of course,” Spider-Man says earnestly. He hugs Miles close and bends his knees. “Hang on tight. The first swing is always the scariest. You ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he says.

Spider-Man counts to three before he lets them fall forward, one hand holding Miles tight around the middle and the other shooting a web toward the light post. 

Miles holds onto Spider-Man with a death grip, screaming, though he would deny it, as they sail through the air. It’s nothing like jumping between buildings, the gravity as they drop to the lowest point of the swing has his stomach clenching. Yet, it’s super fun watching the world zip by.

They move through the city until they reach a warehouse district. Spider-Man slows down and drops them to the ground. “There we go.” 

“That was so much fun,” Miles says, even as his legs shake like a newborn lamb. “Wow, that was an adrenaline rush.”

Spider-Man laughs. “You never get used to it.” 

“You need to give me one of those,” Miles remarks. “That was too much fun not to do again!”

“Sure! But,” Spider-Man tosses his bag to the side and surveys the area, “we have training to do first. You have to earn the webshooters.” 

“Alright, I can do that. Can I bring my stuff out now?” Miles says, a grin plastered on his face.

Spider-Man nods. “Suit up, then we’ll start with seeing what you can do.”

He straps on his various bits, even bringing out his pillows. He feels ridiculous when he finishes, but safe. “I’m ready, what’s first?”

“Are you wearing pillows?”

“Hey, you have super strength, I have super strength, I’m playing it safe,” Miles says, folding his arms.

Spider-Man shakes his head as he jogs over to a stack of cinderblocks. He pulls out a large, oversized boxing bag and jumps up onto a beam. Spider-Man secures the bag to the beam with a chain and looks over at Miles. “Show me what you got.” 

Miles steps up, curls his hand into a fist and punches it. It swings back and forth with the motion. He looks at Spider-Man, “How’s that?”

Spider-Man holds up a hand and waves it back and forth. “Eh.” 

“Eh? Alright then, how about you show me how you’d do it?” Miles says, standing back.

Spider-Man drops down, knees crouching with his landing. He walks over and shakes out his hands, jumping in place. “You’re too tense when you punch. You can move quicker and easier when you’re light on your feet.” He hops back and pulls back his arm. Spider-Man throws a right hook at the punching bag. 

The bag swings back, the chains creaked with the strain of holding the bag in place. Spider-Man grabs the bag before it can knock Miles over. 

“Alright, I’ll try and relax. Not like I’m with a superhero or anything,” Miles jokes, letting out a breath. He forces himself to relax before he tries again, stepping into the punch and punching the bag square in the middle. It rattles back and forth on the hook.

Spider-Man crosses his arms. “Not bad.” 

“Thanks, I’ve had some, uh, practice before,” Miles says with a small shrug.

“You’re already a step ahead of me. I spent too much time watching fights on YouTube to teach myself how to fight,” Spider-Man says. 

Miles gives him a disbelieving look, “Seriously? That’s how you started? You? Spider-Man?”

Spider-Man shrugs. “I wasn’t much of a fighter when I first started out. Hell, I didn’t start being Spider-Man until I had my powers for a few years.”

“Huh, well there you go. Did you… tell anyone?” Miles asks. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he quickly adds on.

“I-” Spider-Man rubs at his neck. “No, I didn’t. I wanted to, but things didn’t work out.”

Miles nods sympathetically, “Yeah, same. You’re the second person who knows.”

“Second?”

Miles looks at his feet, refusing to look him in the eyes. “The first one… passed away recently.”

Spider-Man hangs his head as he pats Miles on the shoulder. “I’m sorry to hear that. The person I wanted to tell about my powers passed away too, before I could tell them. Now you have a special opportunity to make them proud by using your powers for good. They would want you to help others, I’m sure.” 

Miles winced, glad he was looking away so Spider-Man wouldn’t see that. At that moment, he knew he couldn’t tell Spider-Man what happened. His Uncle was the Prowler, but lying that he was a… good, normal man was easier. Silence was easier. What was one more person to lie to? “Yeah,” he croaked, “he sure would.”

“C’mon. Let’s work on your stance. You’ll need to be able to be super quick on your feet to be a superhero.”

* * *

“So, when am I going to get my own costume? Or do I have to go buy a Halloween costume,” Miles jokes, swinging his legs as he sits on a beam in their ‘training warehouse.’

Spider-Man does a flip off the beam and swings through the warehouse. “Not sure. It’s up to you, really. Do you want a suit?”

“Every superhero _ ever _ has one. Have you looked at the New York heroes lately? Like Daredevil? I would be the odd one out without one,” Miles points out.

“Fair enough. What kind of suit do you want?”

He hums. “Well, I don’t really have a design in mind. Probably something with a spider on it, keep with the theme and whatnot.”

Spider-Man swings back over. “So kind of like my suit? Or like my original suit?”

“Yeah, but something different. Unless you want me to be your, like, stand-in if you’re sick? But that would be boring… could be confusing for your enemies though,” Miles ponders, thinking aloud.

“You are _ not _ stealing my suit,” Spider-Man says, pointing at Miles. “You can use my suit as inspiration or whatever if you want the spider theme, but it should be your style.”

“My style? Can do. You’ll be impressed, I’m sure of it. Who wants to wear your bland suit anyway?” Miles says cheekily.

Spider-Man runs his hands down his body. “I’m sexy as hell, what are you talking about?” 

Miles cringes, covering his eyes. “Dude, no, gross, please _ never _ do that or say that _ ever _again.”

Spider-Man thwips a web at Miles’ hands, sticking them to his face. “Oops.”

“I hate you, so, so much,” Miles declares as he tries in vain to get his hands free.

“Don’t worry, it’ll dissolve in an hour or so.” 

Miles manages to squeeze two fingers apart so he can see. “Well, I guess I still have my legs?” He jumps down and kicks him in the guts, barely doing any damage.

Spider-Man looks down at where Miles’ foot had connected with his abs. “Ouch,” he deadpans.

“Hey, I’m trying to be nice here. Unlike you,” Miles huffs.

“You want nice?” Spider-Man laughs. He swings away, digging around in his discarded bag, before he comes back. Spider-Man hands Miles a binder. “Here, how’s that for nice?”

“I would love to take it, but my hands are occupied,” Miles says.

Spider-Man snorts as he sets the binder down. “Well, there you go. It’s all my suit designs. I’ve been carrying it around in case you needed it.”

“Thanks. But seriously, do you not have a dissolvent? I don’t want to be like this for an hour,” Miles whines.

An alarm buzzes from Spider-Man’s bag. “Shit. Looks like I have a thing. I’ll catch up with you later, Miles.” Spider-Man swings through the warehouse, snatches his bag, and runs out the warehouse. “See you tomorrow!”

“You’re the worst!” Miles yells after him. But as he sits down, accepting his fate, an evil grin grows on his face. Oh, he’ll get him back. All he needs is a new costume.

* * *

Miles hisses, sucking on his thumb for what feels like the hundredth time. Sewing, turns out, wasn’t a strong suit of his. He had done and redone some sections so many times, yet he wasn’t giving up. He has to make this perfect.

As he tries again, he hears whispering start-up from his parents’ room. He ignores it, trying to let them keep their privacy, until he hears his own name.

“-Miles is happier? Something’s changed,” he hears his Mum whisper.

He hears some shuffling, then his Dad says, “he’s a tough cookie. He was always going to be alright.”

Miles smiled to himself. Yeah, something had changed. He was working with Spider-Man. Any kid’s wildest dream. Life was getting better.

* * *

Spider-Man and Miles had been training for over an hour now. Just simple maneuvers to dodge attacks, those sorts of things, and now they were standing around taking a breather.

  
  


Miles was taking a drink from his water bottle when Spider-Man spoke up.

  
  


“So, let’s see those Pikachu hands of yours,” Spider-Man says, hands on his hips. 

Miles looks up at him, frowning, “Sure?” He puts down his drink bottle and wills his hands to light up. The blue strands of light sparked to life and began to dance up and down his arm.

Spider-Man walks forward and studies Miles’ hands. He crouches down in front of him, then tilts his head to look at them from below, all while rubbing at his chin and humming. “This is really cool, you know?” 

Miles shifts nervously, “I guess. It’s, uh, different.”

“I can only imagine how they must feel on your end. What’s it like?” 

Miles thinks for a moment. He had never really focused on the sensation, not really. “It’s… like my hand is numb? Or like, that feeling you get just before you get pins and needles. I don’t really feel much from it.”

“Huh.” Spider-Man stands up and, before Miles can react, grabs his hands. He tenses, going straight like a board for a split second before he releases Miles’ hands with a gasp. “Wow, that’s powerful.” 

Miles is frozen in place. All he can think about, all he can see, is his Uncle. His heart is beating out of his chest as he curls in on himself, trying to breathe. He can’t. He can’t! His chest hurts. What if he had hurt Peter? What if he was collapsed on the ground, burnt to a crisp, because he was so stupid. He’s so stupid! It’s all his fault!

Spider-Man rubs the back of his neck. “You okay? Did I hurt you?” 

Miles can’t speak, can hardly breathe, just manages to shake his head.

“Hey, whoa, whoa, it’s okay,” Spider-Man says, taking Miles by the shoulders and helping him sit down. “Look at me.”

Miles looks at Spider-Man. What if he had been burnt, like Uncle Aaron, because of him? He wouldn’t be able to live with himself. And all because he was so _stupid. _

Spider-Man hugs Miles close. “I’m okay. You didn’t hurt me. I’m okay,” he says, repeating it over and over in a soft, hushed whisper against Miles’ temple. 

Miles trembles, just trying to breathe. And eventually, he can. He feels as loose as a ragdoll and tired. “Sorry,” he murmurs.

“No, it’s okay,” Spider-Man says, “you’re okay.” 

He doesn’t want to move, but he does. He sits up. He absently realises that he’s been crying and wipes away his tears. “I’m sorry, that was dumb.”

Spider-Man squeezes Miles’ arms. “It’s not dumb,” he says. They sit in silence for a moment, Spider-Man humming lightly as if he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. “Something happened, I’m guessing?” He doesn’t wait. “You know, my uncle died. And it was sort of my fault. We had gotten into an argument and he was shot by a random car.” Spider-Man takes a deep breath. “I have to fight whatever urges my body has to relive that moment every time I hear gunshots or see that type of car.”

He clears his throat. “I don’t know what happened to you, or if you did something or someone did something to you, but whatever it is, I’m here for you. We’re Spider-Bros. We’ve got to share this responsibility now, which means we support each other through the thick of it. Okay?” 

Miles nods, fiddling with his fingers. “I’m sorry about your Uncle,” he says quietly.

Spider-Man shrugs. “It’s okay,” he says. “Things happen.” 

Miles gives Spider-Man a small smile. “Thanks for, y’know. Helping.”

“Any time, Pikachu.” 

* * *

“Hey, Spider-Man! I’ve got something to show you,” Miles says, camouflaged as he steps into the warehouse.

Spider-Man peeks out from behind a stack of boxes. “Where are you?”

“Camouflaged. Now prepare yourself, because I have made myself a whole costume of my own!” Miles declares, biting his lip as he gets ready to reveal himself. He can barely contain his snickers.

Spider-Man drops down into the middle of the warehouse. “Alright…” 

“Get ready for your socks to be blown off right off,” Miles says. “You ready?”

“Let’s see it.” 

His camouflage wears off to reveal… a costume exactly like Spider-Man’s, in all its red and blue glory. With one difference, the spider in the centre was white. “What do you think?” Miles says excitedly.

Spider-Man facepalms. “Did you just buy a costume from Toys R Us?”

“What? No. Course not. Stitched it all myself,” Miles says. ‘Insulted.’

“You’re the worst.”

“Ok, fine, here’s my actual one,” Miles says. He rips off the cheap costume and steps out of it to reveal a black and red costume. It still had the web pattern, but it was harder to see. His lenses were surrounded by red, showing off the white bug eyes. His fingers were red, and the spider was red. On both sides, his costume had an almost triangle shape going over his shoulders. And to top it all off, his soles were red. “What do you think?”

Spider-Man gasps. “Dude, this is dope!” 

Miles grins, pulling off his mask. “Right? Designed it myself and everything.”

“It’s pretty cool,” Spider-Man says as he walks around Miles. “I’m impressed.”

“Thanks! When I make my debut, I’m going to be turning heads. Can you imagine the headlines? ‘New Spidey on the Block! Even Better Costume than the Original?’”

Spider-Man shakes his head. “Sure. That’s what they’ll say.”

“Of course they will, I’m the new hip thing,” he declares, jutting his hips from side to side.

“Ten bucks they don’t notice for a month.” 

“Just for that, I’ll rock up in the middle of a fight,” Miles says. He holds out his hand to shake on it. “Deal.”

Spider-Man takes his hand. “Deal.”

* * *

The math homework was never his favourite, ever. Especially now, when it’s due tomorrow and he can’t figure out which formula to use for the life of him. And - to make it even worse - it’s the last question!

He’s seconds from giving up when he feels the ground shake ominously. It stops for a few seconds before it starts again and he hears something explode. Ah, yep, that doesn’t sound good. He shoves all his things into his bag haphazardly and runs over to the nearest window. He sees smoke billowing a few streets over, and then the shaking starts again.

Yeah, this probably called for Spider-Man.

Before he can even turn around to find the nearest bathroom, a hand grabs his shoulder and drags him away, almost causing him to lose his footing and fall. Confused, he looks up at his kidnapee to see… Peter?

“Peter?” Miles says, confused.

“Let’s go,” Peter whispers, running out of the library and down the hall. 

“What? Go where?” Miles questions, still following him anyway.

Peter looks up and down the hall. There’s no one in the hall but the two of them. He reaches up and rips his t-shirt off, revealing a familiar red and blue suit. “We have to go,” he says. 

Miles’ eyes bug out. “Spider-Man? What?!”

“Yeah, Miles. I’m Spider-Man. Now please, for the love of God, tell me you have your suit, too.” Peter looks over his shoulder, dropping Miles’ hand and reaching into his pocket for his mask. 

Automatically, Miles begins peeling off his clothes to reveal his own suit. “And this is how you’re going to reveal yourself? Just- Penis Parker is Spider-Man?? Wait, is that how you- that’s how you were inspired for your science fair project! Dude! What the heck!” He whisper yells.

Peter skids to a stop and presses Miles against the locker. “Miles, focus. We need to stop Rhino before he causes too much damage. I’m surprised you didn’t catch on earlier. Now take off your pants before someone finds us,” he whispers as he lets go to take off his jeans. Peter hops around, grabbing at his shoes. 

Miles shakes his head, pulling off his own shoes. “You’re explaining everything after, got it?”

“Yeah, of course.”

* * *

Miles sits down on the unconscious body of Rhino, folding his legs under him. “It’s like sitting on a turtle,” he comments to Peter.

Peter’s mask scrunches up. “Gross.” 

“Hey, it’s the most effective way to venom blast him again if he, like, wakes up again. I’m thinking ahead,” Miles says, tapping his head.

Peter shrugs. “Yeah, okay.”

He turns to Peter, “Now, you’ve got some explaining to do mister. When were you going to tell me?”

“After you made your official debut.” 

Miles looks around them, at the destruction Rhino had caused, then back down at their defeated enemy. “Huh, well, guess I’ve made my debut then. But!” He says, turning back to Peter, “You told me before my first fight. Did you like, forget to wait or something? I gotta know.”

Peter shrugs. “Sometimes plans go out the window.”

“And, so, you’ve been doing this since you were… Hang on! I thought you were going to be like, twenty-five or something! But you’re just seventeen. We’re like two years apart!” Miles whisper yells, jaw dropping.

“I got started young.” Peter swings around a light post. 

Miles scrubs at his face, “This is just weird.” A lightbulb goes off over his head. “So… you’re good at math, right?”

Peter pauses. “Yes?”

“You can totally tutor me! Because I suck at it. This’ll be so awesome!” Miles declares, pumping his fist in the air.

Peter shakes his head, a smile hinting beneath his mask. “Anytime, Pikachu.”

As news crews and the police approach to get statements from the two of them, Miles can’t help the huge smile on his face. Six months ago he never would have imagined he would be side by side with his hero, facing down the Rhino, or even three months ago when he was helping his Uncle.

But, he was finally happy with his new powers and all the good he could do.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> -Ohstars and Spark


End file.
